


Complimentary

by adrianna_m_scovill



Series: Barson Playroom Series [1]
Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Praise Kink, more tags to be added later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:02:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22832230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrianna_m_scovill/pseuds/adrianna_m_scovill
Summary: This is the start of a series. The setup is pretty tame, but the followups won't be ;)Barba and Benson are stranded overnight because of a blizzard. They luck into a place to stay, but it's not exactly what they expected.
Relationships: Rafael Barba & Olivia Benson, Rafael Barba/Olivia Benson
Series: Barson Playroom Series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1666033
Comments: 10
Kudos: 86





	Complimentary

“Olivia?” Barba asked, stopping in his tracks, the phone in his hand—and the half-typed message—forgotten. He had a bag slung over one shoulder, a garment bag draped over that arm and cell in hand, and his other hand was resting on the handle of a wheeled suitcase. His hair was an unusual mess, and the lower half of his face was dark with a beard she’d—until now—only seen via video chat.

He looked tired, in both the lines of his face and the slope of his shoulders, but his expression lit as he realized she was actually standing before him in the airport. He slipped his phone into his front pocket and crossed the rest of the distance to her. They were surrounded by milling travelers, but his eyes never left her face.

“What are you _doing_ here?” he asked as he stopped in front of her.

She smiled and shrugged. “I was in the neighborhood…”

He laughed. “In Philadelphia? Little outside your jurisdiction, isn’t it?”

“Well,” she said, reaching out to smooth a wrinkle from the front of his shirt. “You did promise me a dinner date tonight.”

“I was headed to the train station, I would’ve been at your door—a little late, but—”

“I didn’t want to wait,” she said, and his smile crinkled his whole face. “As soon as you said your flight was being diverted here, I started driving.”

“I’ve never known you to be so impulsive.”

“No way you were getting another flight tonight. JFK, LaGuardia, and Newark are all almost completely shut down. You’re lucky you got here before the storm did.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “A blizzard shuts down the entire Eastern Seaboard and you decide to go for a drive?”

She laughed. “You think I’m afraid of a little snow?” She paused, searching his face like she hadn’t seen him for years. “I thought maybe you’d rather ride in a car with me for a couple of hours than on a cold train all by yourself.”

He let go of his suitcase to reach out an arm and she stepped into his embrace, drawing a deep breath of his familiar scent. “It’s good to see you,” he said. His arm tightened for a moment before he released her. “I doubt you should’ve been on the roads, though. They were trying to get me on a new flight, but…like you said…” He gestured vaguely toward the other travelers, many of whom would be unexpectedly stuck in Philly for at least the night. “I gave up and figured I’d try Amtrak while at least the trains are hopefully still running.”

She reached for his suitcase and he let her take the handle so he’d have a free hand to settle against her back while they walked. “It’s not bad here, yet,” she said as they fell into step beside each other. His hand was light against her back, but she pressed close to his side as they wove through the crowd. “If we get on the road quick enough, hopefully it’ll be okay until we get close to the city and then…we’ll just take it slow.”

“Take it slow,” he murmured, his voice nearly lost beneath the noise of the airport, and she shot him an amused look. He shook his head, searching her face as though he still wasn’t sure she was real. “I can’t believe you drove all the way here in a blizzard to pick me up.”

“Do I seem desperate? Too eager?”

He laughed and leaned over to plant a quick kiss against her temple. “I missed you.”

“We can stop and get something to eat if you’re hungry.”

“Don’t we have a dinner date back in the city?”

She nudged him with an elbow. “Obviously we can reschedule. Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look…a little tired.”

He laughed again. “Thanks for being charitable.”

“Is the beard a permanent fixture, now?”

“Subtle,” he answered with a grin.

“Just curious.”

“Figured I’d wait and see how this first date goes. I’ll have you know, I’m considered quite the catch in Iowa.”

She laughed, pressed up against him as they walked, and said, “You’re quite the catch in Manhattan, and you know it.”

He sniffed melodramatically. “Modesty is a virtue,” he said, grinning and pulling her even closer when she answered with an indulgent shake of her head.

* * *

“I’m sorry,” she said for the third time since leaving the turnpike. They were parked right in front of the motel office and could barely see the lights of the building through the thick swirl of snow enveloping the car. The wipers were fighting a losing battle against the onslaught. The inside of the car was toasty warm, and the thought of climbing out into the blizzard wasn’t appealing.

They couldn’t keep limping around looking for someplace to hole up for the night, though. Barba had been able to find no nearby hotels with vacancies online, after cycling through several travel apps on his phone, and this motel might be their last chance unless they wanted to sleep in the car until the weather cleared up.

“Stop apologizing,” he said quietly. He gave her thigh a quick squeeze but pulled his hand back after only a moment, wanting the gesture to be friendly and reassuring and not something that made her uncomfortable. “Even you can’t control the weather.”

She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. “If I’d let you get on the train, you’d be—”

“Alone.”

She shot him a dirty look. “You’d be almost home.” Then, before he could answer, she said, “Let’s go inside before they switch off the vacancy sign. I promise I’ll make this up to you.”

“Want your coat?”

“I’ll just make a run for it,” she said, eyeing the vague glow from the front of the motel as she killed the car’s engine.

They opened their doors in unison, each wincing at the arctic blast of wind and snow that swirled into the car. They climbed out, ducked their heads, and hurried for the building. She got there first and held the door for him, and they both exhaled loudly when they made it inside. They shook the snow from their clothes and hair and walked up to the counter.

“Evening,” the man said, glancing them over. “Nice weather, huh?”

“Can we get two rooms for the night, please?” Benson said. She touched her hip and closed her eyes, sighing. “I left my purse in the car—”

“I’ll get the rooms,” Barba said, fishing his wallet from his pocket. He held up a hand before she could object. “We can figure it out later.”

“I can get you checked in to _one_ room,” the man behind the counter said.

Benson sighed. “You only have one room?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Two beds?” Barba asked without much hope.

“One bed,” the man answered.

Barba and Benson looked at each other for a few moments. “Do you have a cot?” Barba asked the man.

“All being used. Sorry.”

Benson blew a puff of air through pursed lips. She hadn’t been traveling as long as Barba, but she looked about as tired as he felt. “Are there _any_ other places nearby that you think might have an opening?”

“Let’s just take the room,” Barba said as he thumbed through his wallet for his credit card. “I’ll trust you not to take any liberties,” he added, eyeing her sideways and getting a tired but amused smile in return.

“It’s not that late,” Benson said. “We can keep looking, we might find something else.”

Barba turned partway toward her and leaned an elbow on the desk. He slapped his card onto the wood but kept his fingers on it so the other man couldn’t take it yet. “Insist a little harder and I might get a complex,” he said.

She rolled her eyes, clearly unconcerned, which made him chuckle quietly. “I’m only thinking of your comfort, Barba. I wasn’t going to tell you yet, but I snore.”

He offered a crooked smile and a cocked brow. “Yet?”

“You didn’t buy me dinner yet.”

His smile stretched into a grin. “Haven’t I?”

“Not _officially_ ,” she said, and he laughed. “But you’re right, we should just get the room. Be a cliché.”

“Cliché?”

“Oh, no,” she said, pitching her voice an octave higher than usual, “we’re stranded in a snowstorm and there’s only one bed…”

He laughed again, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “I despise clichés. Although there are exceptions to every rule…”

The man behind the counter cleared his throat, and Benson and Barba both turned their heads to look at him. Barba slid his card to the middle of the counter, but the other man didn’t reach for it. Instead, he glanced around the room—empty except for the three of them—and said, “I may have another option for you…”

Benson glanced at Barba before asking the attendant, “Another place to stay?”

“Yeah. I mean, if you’d really rather not share a room…”

“It’s been a long day,” Barba said. “Could you—” He twirled his hand in the air in a _hurry up and spit it out_ gesture.

“My brother has a house he rents, usually by the week, sometimes just weekends. It’s real close by, and I know the people he had booked couldn’t make it in ‘cause of the storm. I’m sure he’d give you a good deal for the night and then if the snow don’t let up tomorrow, well, you’ll be helping him out, too, right? Anyway it’s three bedrooms, two bathrooms, he keeps it stocked with food and, y’know, hygiene stuff. And it’ll cost ya less than you’d pay for two rooms here.”

“But you don’t have two rooms,” Barba reminded him.

“He’s legit,” the man said, pulling out his phone and typing something onto the screen. “He’s got a website, here.” He turned the cell around and handed it to Barba, who scrolled quickly. It did look legitimate; there was a photo of a man at the top of the page, and he did show a familial resemblance to the man standing on the other side of the counter.

Barba scanned a few of the reviews at the bottom— _nicest one of these we’ve stayed at, highly recommended_ —and handed the phone back to the man. “It looks like a nice place,” he allowed, “but assuming we were interested, do you really think he’d want to drive out in this weather to rent to us for a single night?”

“I hate to tell ya, mister, but I don’t think this is letting up tomorrow.”

Barba looked at Benson and saw her expression tighten. He put a hand on her arm. “We’ll get home,” he assured her. “We’re not that far, we just need a little daylight. And you know Noah’s having fun.”

“I know. He’d be happy if I was gone all week,” she said. “How close is this place of your brother’s?”

“Less’n two miles,” the man answered. “And he lives just a few minutes the other way. Want I should call him?”

Barba and Benson looked at each other. “It’s up to you,” he said.

“Two bathrooms,” she said. “And food. You looked at the website, it looks good? If he’s willing then it sounds like our best option, right? Especially if we can’t leave in the morning.”

“Okay,” Barba said, pulling his card back and looking at the man. “Set us up.”

* * *

“Anything in the fridge and cupboards is fair game,” the young man—Travis—said as he handed Benson a key. “The playroom is downstairs, and one of the bedrooms. Master bedroom is over here, has its own bathroom. All the sheets are clean but there’s more in the closet at the end of the hall. Laundry soap, all that jazz is—”

“We’re only going to be here for the night,” Barba cut in. “Showers, food, and sleep is really all we need.”

“Alright, well…” Travis divided a look between them. “You’re not the type of folks I usually rent to,” he said. “But like Teddy said, the group I had booked couldn’t—Anyway, never mind. I’ll get outta your hair. My number’s on the fridge if you need anything or got any questions. No checkout times to worry about in the morning, so if you need to hang out til the weather clears, no worries. If you stay another night, I’ll give you a discount.” He extended a hand toward Benson, then Barba, shaking with each of them. “Guess I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” he said.

“Thank you, we really appreciate this,” Benson said.

Travis nodded, glancing at Barba. “Have fun,” he said, turning toward the door with a smile.

Once he was gone, and the door had been deadbolted behind him, Barba looked at Benson. “If this were one of those cop shows, we’d be murdered in the first act and they’d spend the rest of the episode figuring out why we were—”

“Oh, please, Barba, you don’t think I can protect us?” she interrupted, and he laughed. “Besides, it beats sleeping on a motel room floor, doesn’t it?”

He raised his eyebrows. “You were going to make me sleep on the _floor_?”

She smiled. “Guess we’ll never know now, will we? You wanna flip for the master bedroom?”

“Flip what?” He caught his tongue between his teeth in a grin.

“You’re in high spirits,” she noted. “Sleep deprivation making you a little punchy?”

He laughed. “I haven’t slept in weeks. Months—hell, I don’t know. You take the master bedroom, I’ll take the other one up here. Let’s go see what kind of food he’s got stocked?” he suggested, and she nodded, walking with him toward the kitchen.

They went through the cupboards, finding a decent supply of canned goods and boxed meals, and a letter explaining that any and all food was ‘complimentary’ and included in the rental fee. There wasn’t much in the refrigerator—milk and eggs, beer, cheese and condiments—but the freezer was well-stocked with frozen fruits and vegetables, ice cream, pot pies, mini pizzas, and bagged chicken.

Barba’s stomach grumbled, the sound loud in the quiet house, and he grimaced.

“Food before showers?” she asked, glancing at him.

He looked over at the liquor cabinet. “Think the booze is complimentary, too?” He walked to the case and tried the door. It was unlocked and he pulled it open. There was a note stuck to one of the shelves, and he read it aloud: “The alcohol is free for renters, but please drink responsibly—particularly if making use of the playroom.” He left the note in the cabinet and grabbed a bottle of scotch. “No wine in here, though. Should we file a complaint?”

“Scotch is fine,” she said, sounding amused. “Pot pies?”

“Not a very good dinner date.” He turned back toward the kitchen, carrying the scotch.

She raised her eyebrows. “Me, or the food?”

“Obviously not you. I did think tonight would go differently.”

“I’m sorry—”

“Liv,” he said, putting a hand on her arm. “The one thing I’m _not_ sorry about is that you and I are here together. Thank you for being here, even if it’s not the romantic first date I had planned.”

“Oh? You had plans?” She paused. “Romantic ones?”

He laughed softly, his gaze sliding to her lips for a moment before he turned away to fetch glasses from a cupboard. “Guess we’ll never know,” he said.

“Hmm. You think you’ll try again?”

“As many times as it takes,” he answered, glancing over his shoulder. “Pot pies are fine. Easy, and I can take a shower while they’re in the oven.” He poured two glasses of scotch while she crossed to the stove to start preheating the oven.

“Turkey or beef?” she asked, returning to the freezer.

“Surprise me. But be a pal and throw two in for me?”

“Sure. _Pal_ ,” she said, grabbing three pot pies. “You’re gonna save room for ice cream, I hope.” She turned to find him digging a baking sheet out of the drawer beneath the oven, and she paused for a moment to admire the sight of his pants stretched even tighter than usual across his backside.

“I haven’t been eating much lately,” he said, straightening to slide the pan onto the stove. He looked at her, pressing a palm to his stomach, and said, “Hence the svelte figure.” His tone was self-deprecating, but she answered seriously.

“I noticed.”

He narrowed his eyes and said, “I know. I felt you staring at my ass just now,” but he looked a bit embarrassed as she walked over to set the boxes on the counter.

“You look good. I just hope you’re keeping yourself healthy.”

“I am,” he said, fidgeting as she started opening the pot pies. He seemed about to say something else, but the silence stretched out for several moments.

She glanced over at him. “I won’t stare at your ass if it makes you uncomfortable.”

He laughed. “By all means, stare away,” he said. He cleared his throat. “You look good, too. I mean, you look nice. You always do, but—”

“I’ll remember you said that when I scrub the makeup off my face in a few minutes.”

“I look forward to it.”

She rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the food, but she couldn’t keep the smile from her face or ignore the warmth settling into her stomach. “Flattery might get you somewhere,” she murmured without looking at him.

“You want me to shave before we eat?”

She cast him a sideways look. “Are you asking if I like the beard?”

He grinned. “Flattery will get you anywhere and everywhere.”

She turned and leaned a hip against the counter to look him over. “Hmm. So you want compliments?”

“Well. Only if you mean them.”

“I’d never say something I don’t mean,” she said quietly. “I’m getting used to the beard. I’ve always thought you looked good with a little scruff, but this…” She ran her gaze over his beard. “May I?” she asked, lifting a hand toward his jaw.

He swallowed, his eyes locked on her face as she reached her fingers toward his beard. She touched the curve of his jaw, gently dragging her fingertips through the salt and pepper curls, smiling as his lips parted to release a small breath.

“Definitely softer,” she murmured, dropping her hand back to her side.

He took half a step forward and stopped, swallowing again before turning away to grab for the scotch. “You can go shower or rest or whatever,” he said. “I’ll put the food in and set the timer and then I’m going to shower and change.”

“Okay.” She watched him take a drink. “Do you want me to shave?” He choked on his scotch, quickly setting the glass down as he coughed into his fist. She laughed and patted him on the back. “Don’t hurt yourself,” she said before turning away to head toward their luggage. “See you in a bit.”

* * *

They ate in companionable silence, seated across from each other at the table, occasionally exchanging looks and smiles without bothering to make small talk. They didn’t need to reiterate that they were both happy to be in each other’s company; they could feel the contentment in the air, an ease and familiarity that they’d missed in the time since they’d last shared a meal.

True to her word, she was without makeup. She’d only partially-dried her hair, leaving it hanging damp against the shoulders of her long-sleeve, cotton shirt. She was wearing plaid flannel pajama bottoms with nothing beneath. He wasn’t going to admit that he’d noted the lack of panty-line when she’d bent to pull the pot pies from the oven, or that she was very clearly not wearing a bra beneath her shirt.

He was wearing gray sweats and a white t-shirt, and he’d combed his hair and left it to air-dry. He’d been keeping it cut short, so he didn’t have to worry about it curling too much. He’d given his beard a quick trim, but he was more than prepared to shave it off if she gave it so much as a dirty look.

When they’d finished eating, they carried their plates back to the kitchen and Barba washed their silverware at the sink while Benson served two bowls of ice cream. “Noah has a dance recital in two weeks,” she said as she put the carton back in the freezer. “I can get you a family ticket if you want to come.”

“Of course,” he said, drying his hands and turning to take one of the bowls. “I was thinking of taking him to the ballet if you think he’d like that?”

“He’d love it,” she assured him.

He offered a crooked smile. “You can come, too. If you want.”

“Thanks,” she laughed. They grabbed their glasses of scotch on their way past the table and settled onto the sofa. She turned on the television and they flipped through programs, pausing to watch bits and pieces of a few reality shows.

“So they just put couples on an island and try to make them cheat on each other? Charming,” Barba remarked after a few minutes on one channel.

“I think they get paid thousands of dollars a week to go—”

“Ruin their relationships.”

“Yeah, well. They can’t be that strong to begin with, right?”

“If they loved each other, there’s no temptation in the world that could make them…” He trailed off, clearing his throat before eating another spoonful of ice cream.

She switched the station. After a few minutes, she said, “If he screamed at me like that, he’d be getting the whole plate of pasta right in his face.”

Barba laughed, glancing at her and pointing at the TV with his spoon. “He wouldn’t dare yell at you, I guarantee it. You could serve him raw chicken and he’d smile and eat it.”

She turned partway toward him, drawing her knee up until it was touching his thigh. “You saying I can’t cook? I can cook, Barba.”

“I’ve yet to discover something you can’t do, Captain Benson,” he returned, cocking an eyebrow.

“I could have you packing that ten pounds back on in no time.”

He grinned. “It’s more like twenty, but again, thanks for being charitable.”

She eyed his shoulders and chest, glancing only briefly at his stomach before raising her gaze to his. “You must’ve been working out, then.”

He opened his mouth, closed it, and then muttered, “Jesus, you actually made me blush.” He looked at the television, willing the heat to leave his cheeks. “Yes, some. It’s hard to eat healthy on the road.”

“Didn’t want all that McDonald’s settling in your hips?” she teased.

“Stomach,” he corrected, looking sideways at her.

“Had to keep that eligible bachelor status for all the lucky Iowans, huh?”

“Not exactly Temptation Island,” he said. “And even if it were…”

“Not looking to be tempted?” she asked with a smile.

“Actually, I was hoping—” He broke off abruptly when her phone buzzed on the coffee table.

She grimaced. “Sorry. It’s probably Noah saying goodnight,” she said as she reached for the phone and answered it. “Hey, honey, you having fun?” she asked.

Barba could hear Noah’s voice, faint and tinny, from the other end of the call, and he smiled as Benson proceeded to listen to the boy’s story about his day—no doubt a stalling tactic to avoid going to bed. Barba muted the television for her and grabbed his own cell from the coffee table, slowly eating his ice cream while he scrolled one-handed through his emails and messages.

He looked up when Benson bumped her knee against his leg. “Wanna say goodnight?” she whispered, holding the phone away from her mouth.

“Sure,” he said, setting his phone face-up on his thigh to take hers. “Noah?” he asked, chuckling at the boy’s excited response. “Yeah, I heard. We’ll be home soon, and I have a present for you. Nope, it’s a secret,” he laughed. “I’ll see you soon, buddy, have a good night, alright? Okay.” He paused, caught off guard, and glanced at Benson. She’d picked up his phone and was looking at something. Barba swallowed and said, “Love you, too.” From the corner of his eye he saw Benson look at him, but she’d turned her attention back to his phone when he ended the call and looked at her.

She held his cell up, turning it toward him. “Sorry, I promise I wasn’t snooping,” she said, as though he were actually worried. “Look at this ad, it says McDonald’s is selling Quarter Pounder candles. Did this pop up because we just mentioned McDonald’s?” she asked, half-teasing.

“Big Brother is always listening,” he intoned. He looked at the phone. “Onion scented candles?”

“You can get cheese, pickle, onion, beef, ketchup, or bun.”

“Love the smell of buns in the morning.”

She shot him a look that made him laugh, but instead of addressing the comment she said, “That’s the least offensive of these options. Make your apartment smell like you’ve been baking.”

He cocked an eyebrow, lowered his voice, and said, “How about a nice romantic evening with a beef candle?”

She snorted, which made him throw his head back to laugh. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?” she asked.

“God, I wouldn’t know,” he said. “But I promise it sounded a lot less euphemistic in my head.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t make you sleep in the car.” She paused, looking at her bowl with a grimace. “I served myself too much. You want some of this?”

“I ate more than you did,” he laughed, but she’d already turned her upper body toward him and was raising a spoonful of ice cream toward his mouth. Their eyes met and his breath caught in his chest, the laugh dying in his throat. He hesitated only a moment before parting his lips. She slipped the spoon into his mouth, careful to avoid his teeth, and the melting ice cream flooded his tongue. He closed his lips, cleaning the spoon as she slowly withdrew it.

He swallowed, noting the color in her cheeks and the shine in her eyes.

They moved at the same time, their lips meeting somewhere in the middle. He lifted a hand to her jaw, barely noticing when his phone tumbled to the rug at his feet.

* * *

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” he breathed, trailing kisses over her shoulder and along her collarbone.

She shifted beneath him, running her hands over his biceps and up to his shoulders. “You’ve been holding out on me,” she murmured, kneading the muscles of his shoulders and earning a low groan from his throat. She slid one hand down his side to give his ass a squeeze. She hummed when he tipped his face to nuzzle her throat, and gasped when he nipped lightly.

He lifted his head to kiss her lips, threading his fingers into her hair. Outside, the wind was howling, rattling the windows; inside, they were warm, their naked bodies tangled together. His kiss was unhurried, as though they had all the time in the world. She slid her hands over his skin, exploring every inch her fingertips could find.

His mouth found its way to her neck again, and she shivered as he sucked at her pale skin. “The beard tickles,” she gasped, and he started to lift his head. She slipped her fingers into his hair and pulled him back down. “It feels nice,” she said, smiling at his breathy chuckle against her throat. “I want to feel all of you,” she murmured, hooking one leg around his. “All of you.”

“I’m here,” he answered, finding her lips with his again.

“All of you,” she repeated.

“All of me,” he whispered without hesitation, kissing her as their bodies joined, kissing her as they moved together, slowly, steadily, in perfect tandem, toward climax, kissing her as they came with soft cries that were almost lost beneath the howl of the blizzard.

* * *

She woke when he slipped quietly and carefully from bed, watching sleepily—happily—as he pulled on his sweats and shuffled toward the bathroom. She drifted off, snuggling into his spot to keep it warm for him, but when she opened her eyes again, fifteen minutes had passed and he hadn’t returned. She squinted toward the bathroom, but it was dark and silent.

She listened to the house, searching for the sound of him in the living room or kitchen, and she heard nothing. With a small frown, she pushed herself up and out of the bed, quickly dressing in her pajamas from the floor. She didn’t want to think he’d gone off to sleep in the other bedroom, but maybe he wasn’t comfortable sleeping with her wrapped around him. If that was the case, she would do her best to respect his space—

She stopped in the living room, looking at the basement door. It was open, and light was spilling across the floor. They hadn’t explored the basement. She walked to the top of the stairs and paused before starting down. Her bare feet were quiet against the carpeted steps. She could hear no sounds from below and had no idea what to expect. Perhaps he’d curled up in the third bedroom to sleep.

At the bottom of the stairs, she turned toward the only open door. She could see purple paint on the walls and not much else; the room seemed to spread off to the right, hidden from sight. She felt a flutter of nervousness and opened her mouth to call his name.

She stopped in the doorway, his name dying on her tongue as she caught sight of him. He was standing in profile, so she couldn’t see the whole of his expression, but she could see the gleam of wonder in his eye, could see enough of his face to draw the comparison to a kid in a candy shop.

She moved forward slowly, not wanting to startle him but unable to deny her curiosity. She cleared her throat and his head turned quickly, his eyes landing on her face. She saw something like a wince tighten his features, and then sudden color bloomed into his cheeks.

Rafael Barba wasn’t a man easily embarrassed, at least not outwardly, and she was surprised by the blush darkening his cheeks and the guilt in his eyes. Less like a kid in a candy store and more like a teenage boy caught looking at adult magazines.

She glanced downward, realizing he’d automatically dropped his hands in front of himself as he turned toward her. She met his eyes and raised her brows in question.

“I didn’t…” he started, but he didn’t finish the sentence.

She walked toward him until she could see around the corner into the rest of the room, and then she drew up short, staring in disbelief. Her eyes skated over everything—two different swings, restraints hanging from the ceiling and more attached to a padded wall, an array of whips and paddles and rods, an inversion table with leather cuffs at each end, a large collection of dildos, plugs, and strap-ons in sealed packages, a variety of lubes and condoms—

 _More complimentary supplies_ , she thought. She almost laughed.

“I didn’t know this was here,” he said, something in his voice begging her to believe him.

“Of course not,” she answered absently, barely aware of what she was saying as she stared around the room. “Who owns this place, Christian Grey?” After a moment, she added, “Guess we should’ve taken a closer look at the website.”

It took her a few more seconds to notice his strange silence, and she turned her attention back to his face. He was looking at her, his cheeks still dark and his expression difficult to read.

His expression was difficult to read but it didn’t take a genius to figure out why.

She stepped closer to him and reached out to touch his arm. “See something you like?” she asked quietly, and she saw his throat bob. “You know you can say so.”

“I was just—” He stopped to clear his throat. “Surprised. Whatever I expected to be in this room, it wasn’t _this_.” He gestured vaguely toward the array of toys without looking at them.

“And?”

“And, uh.” He ran his tongue over his lip, regarding her, clearly deciding how much to say. “I was thinking how good you’d look in that swing.” He pointed with just a flick of his finger to indicate which one he meant, and she glanced over at it. She could feel heat climbing into her cheeks, too, and her embarrassment almost made her laugh. They were a little old to be acting like they’d never been around sex toys before.

“You think?” she asked.

She saw relief soften his posture a moment before he grinned. The sudden glint of mischief in his eyes sent a shiver of awareness down her spine, and she looked toward the swing again, considering.

“It was just a thought,” he said. “I’m not saying—”

“I don’t like the idea of being restrained,” she admitted, turning her eyes back to his.

He stepped close and put a hand against her back, clearly concerned by whatever he saw in her face. “I would never—”

“I know. I’m not saying a hard no, I’m just saying…I’d have to think about it.” She paused, studying him. “What about you? Do you have a problem with being restrained?”

He swallowed. Hesitated. Shook his head.

“I can’t help thinking _you’d_ look pretty good in the swing.”

He laughed. “It’s not exactly designed—” He broke off, following her speculative look toward the dildos and strap-ons, and she heard the soft rush of air as he exhaled. “Oh,” he said, and when she looked at him the flush of color in his cheeks seemed different. He shifted and cleared his throat again.

“Is that a hard no?” she asked, settling her hand against the small of his back.

He touched his tongue to his lower lip, searching her face. “I don’t think it’s even a soft no,” he finally answered quietly.

She smiled and leaned forward to kiss him, letting her lips linger against his. He turned toward her, holding her hips, and she could feel his arousal straining at the cotton of his sweatpants. “Let’s go back to bed,” she suggested against his lips. “We can talk about it when we’ve had more sleep.”

He pulled back a bit to look at her. “We can talk about it,” he repeated, tasting the words on his tongue.

She pressed closer. “I’m imagining how good you’d look, on full display for me,” she murmured, and she felt his erection twitch against her leg. She smiled and ran her hands over his chest, squeezing lightly at his biceps. If he liked compliments, she could oblige—and every word would be true.

He kissed her smile, whispering, “Let’s go back to bed.”


End file.
